


The Long Goodbye

by angelicwinchesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford Era (Supernatural), Sam Winchester Leaves for Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicwinchesters/pseuds/angelicwinchesters
Summary: Two days ago, Sam Winchester left his old life of hunting and monsters behind him to go to Stanford University.But now, on his way to California, he can't help but feel guilty about the mess he left in his wake. He wants to call his brother to try and mend at least a fraction of their relationship.But what will happen when Dean picks up the phone?
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	The Long Goodbye

The engine of the coach thrummed underneath him as it lurched around a corner into the morning sun. His fingers couldn’t help drumming his duffle bag that was sat on his lap. His gaze was still, fixed on the passing scenery outside the window but his mind was elsewhere.

It was back in a dim motel room just outside of Twin Falls, Idaho. The air in the room was stale in contrast to the fresh breeze blowing outside that night. He wasn’t alone in this room. Two other figures, both his elder, were standing opposite him. One had plenty to say and was shouting it. The other was quiet, reserved. The third figure – Sam himself – was carefully watching both of them while at the same time coming to his own defence, finally saying aloud what had been eating away at him for months, years.

Maybe in the process, he got aggressive. Maybe some words fell out of his mouth that shouldn’t have.

Then it was all slamming doors and dark highways and tired feet and bus stations.

Although it had been barely 48 hours since that night, it felt like a lifetime had passed Sam by. Three days ago, he had been knee-deep in a vengeful spirit hunt with his father and brother, living the same life he’d always lived: find, hunt, kill and move on.

Now, everything was new.

Now, he was alone, on a coach well on its way to California. And once he arrived in California, everything would be different then too. This marked the beginning of whole new _life_ for Sam.

Every now and then, Sam felt a spark of excitement ignite in him at the prospect of his freedom. But then something would pull him back and he was replaying the events of that night again.

He often found his restless fingers opening his phone. When he saw that he had no voicemails or missed calls, he was unsure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

It was on the fourth time he checked and was met with the same result that he took a deep breath and shoved his phone as far down into his bag as he could; right down, past all the clothes and books and silver knives. He was being childish, he thought to himself, shaking his head. If they wanted to call, they would’ve called sometime in the past couple of days.

It’s not like he needed them anyway. He _shouldn’t_ need them. This had been his choice. He had decided to walk out that door.

For the next hundred miles or so, Sam told himself that many times. Over and over, in the hope that the gnawing feeling in his stomach would eventually subside.

Every time he tried, however, his mind would force his thoughts back round to that night.

The way he left. The words that were said. The looks on their faces. The lines on his father’s face were deepened under an expression of anger, disgust, shame and…sadness? No, couldn’t be, Sam thought. His dad was only disappointed in him. And Dean – well, Sam wasn’t really sure. That had been one of the few times Sam was unable to read his brother.

Sam pushed down the ache in his stomach as he thought about him; the dread that came when he considered the possibility that he would never speak to Sam again. He pushed it all down. Seriously, it had been all of two days since he left and he was already wanting to talk to Dean? No, he was going to be stronger than that…

But he hadn’t said goodbye.

He doubted his dad cared about a goodbye, or about Sam at all, after everything that went down. But Dean…

Then again, he wasn't sure whether Dean would've wanted to hear it either. He had barely uttered two words during the whole episode, and Sam wasn't sure what that silence meant. Was he angry and disappointed like Dad?

A wave of guilt washed over Sam all of a sudden, causing his stomach to twist slightly. He'd wanted to leave that life behind him - but not like this.

Before he gave himself a chance to change his mind, his fingers were fumbling around, searching for his phone again, hidden deep in his bag. As he found it and dialled Dean's number, he realised he wasn't exactly sure what he was planning to say. But he just wanted to know, _needed_ to know what Dean was thinking and that he didn’t hate him because, in truth, that really did matter to Sam – more than he would like to admit.

At the very least, Sam wanted to say sorry for the way things happened that night. He never wanted it to go like this.

As the phone continued to ring, Sam felt the worry grow that Dean really was never going to speak to him again. Or he could just be busy, Sam thought, that's why he can't pick up the –

Sam's thoughts were interrupted when the ringing stopped, and someone picked up on the other end.

He waited a moment, expecting to hear his brother’s voice, hoping his greeting would not be along the lines of _‘Wanting back in already, huh?’_

But no greeting came. No voice filled his ears. Sam frowned and waited a moment longer before hesitantly saying,

“H-hello? Dean?”

Nothing.

“You there? Uh, it’s…it’s Sam.”

Still quiet.

A vague notion of dread started to creep up on Sam, worrying Dean had been caught by some monster who had taken his phone, or he was hurt or unconscious.

That is, until he finally heard something on the other end. Breathing. His brother’s breathing. The worry ceased. Sam was surprised with himself that he could recognise Dean’s _breathing_ of all things but considering they’d spent a good part of their lives sleeping, eating, working, living in the same space (whether it be a car or a motel room), Sam supposed it made sense – at this point, what didn’t they know about each other?

“Dean, I know you’re there,” Sam continued. “I think we should talk.”

Still, his words were met with nothing but Dean’s breaths, steady but heavy. This was getting annoying now.

“If you don’t wanna talk, don’t pick up the phone.”

Sam’s tone had been hard, his voice increasing in volume with his frustration. At this, he expected Dean either to hang up or finally start talking. But once again, his only answer was yet another silence.

Sam felt a surge of anger come over him, the same anger he had felt when he had argued with his dad, the same anger that caused him to pack his bag and walk out of that motel room two days ago. How childish could Dean be? Sam had anticipated the possibility that Dean might be angry or disappointed but to give him the “silent treatment” over the phone? That wasn’t fair and it made Sam feel even more foolish and confused than he already did. Attempting to avoid attracting the attention of other passengers on the bus, Sam let his breath out in a sharp huff before saying in a lowered but stern voice,

“You know what, I was gonna apologise for how things went down but maybe I won't bother. I'm not gonna apologise for wanting a different life to the one I was forced into - the one _we_ were forced into, Dean.” He paused for a moment, hoping this would provoke some sort of response from Dean. Sam clenched his jaw when still nothing but quiet came from the other end of the line.

“You wanna leave it like this? Fine. Bye, Dean.”

Sam snapped his phone shut and turned his head to look out the window, trying to appear nonchalant. To whom, he didn’t know.

He did his best to swallow the knot that was quickly tightening, rising in his throat and to blink back the tears that were starting to blur his vision, causing the scenery outside the window to swim before him. He pushed down the anger he felt that Dean, who had always, _always_ been there, wasn’t willing to be there for him this time. He pushed down the sadness and fear that came with the realisation that that was really it – he truly was never going to hear his brother’s voice again. He pushed it all down.

* * *

When Dean saw his brother’s name flash up on his phone that was lying on the bedside table, he didn’t know what to think.

A part of him couldn’t help but hope he would pick up and hear Sam say that he had made a mistake and he was on his way back. Realistically, he knew that wasn’t likely. He’d seen the look in Sam’s eyes the night he left, filled with deep determination. That wasn’t going to fade any time soon. It hadn’t been impulsive anger that had made Sam walk out; he had been wanting this for some time, Dean could tell.

Over the past few months, he had noticed a change in his little brother. Sam was more argumentative, with Dad and even with Dean. He was even more reluctant to go on hunts than before. He seemed restless, agitated. Of course, Dean knew that Sam had never been truly content with life as a hunter, but this was something else. It was as though after all these years of Dad’s orders and motels and monsters, Sam had finally had enough. He’d reached a breaking point.

So, two days ago, when Sam told Dean and John about Stanford, everything about Sam’s behaviour seemed to make so much more sense. Dean saw now that Sam _had_ had enough. And he was leaving because of it.

Dean could recall trying to process what his brother was telling him, what this all meant as John and Sam threw spiteful words at each other across the room. He wanted to scream at them both to just shut up and let him think for a minute. He only half-listened as Sam announced he was leaving _that night._ He only half-listened when his dad yelled at him not to come back. But he heard the door slam. And then realisation set in.

For a while after Sam had left, Dean felt torn in two. One half of him was calm – sad but accepting. Sam was never happy in this life. At least, this way, he could have a chance of living the way he’d always wanted. Even if that meant a life without Dean and John.

The other half was consumed with anger and betrayal. How could Sam do this to him, to their dad, to them? Did he have no sense of loyalty to his family? Did he not care about hunting down the son-of-a-bitch that killed their mom? Was he that selfish? How could Sam live knowing what was out there ganking innocent people and not lift a finger to stop it?

Not to mention the fact that he was ditching Dean. Even when hunting got tough, or when John had been away for weeks at a time, at least they’d found company and comfort in each other. But now, what did Dean have? Sam had taken a part of Dean with him when he walked out that door.

After a couple of days of contemplation and uncomfortable silences between he and his dad, Dean felt his angry side taking over and he was letting it. It was easier to be angry with Sam than to miss him. It just hurt less.

So, as Dean stared at the phone cradled in his hands now, his brother’s name lighting up the screen, his initial reaction was to take the call and give Sam a piece of his mind.

But when he put the phone to his ear, something stopped the words from coming out. It was like he was angry with Sam, but he didn’t know _how_ to be angry. He didn’t know how to tell him that he was letting him and the family down. But he also didn’t know how to tell him that he was doing the right thing and that college would be good for him.

So, he didn’t say anything. Even when Sam said that he should hang up if he didn’t want to talk. Dean wanted to talk but he _couldn’t_. He figured he should just hang up but he _couldn’t._

Then he heard Sam hang up and it was like hearing the door slam all over again. He sat still for a long time, Sam’s words echoing in his mind.

_“…the one I was forced into – the one we were forced into, Dean.”_

There had always been a part of Dean that envied Sam’s ability to stand up to Dad. There had always been a part of him that craved the normalcy that Sam did. And now, there was a part of him that knew there was nothing that he could do or say that would change Sam’s mind. Maybe Dean wasn’t actually angry at all – he was just jealous and scared of a life without Sam.

Not that Dean would admit this to himself, let alone Sam – not yet anyway.

Right now, Dean was still just plain pissed.

But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that they were done. That phone call couldn’t be the last time he ever heard from his brother, could it? Dean might have been angry, but he didn’t want Sam thinking he _hated_ him, no more than he wanted Sam to hate him.

He put his phone to his ear once again and listened for the other end to be picked up, which, thankfully, it did.

_“If you’re gonna do that whole ‘not-talking’ thing again-”_

“I’m not.”

There was a silence between them that seemed to last hours.

Dean could almost picture the look on his brother’s face; he could almost hear the cogs turning in his head, trying to figure Dean out, trying to decide where to go from here. After a long while, Dean tried to make his voice as casual as possible when he said:

“Whereabouts are you right now?” Like he was just calling to check in on his little brother. Like this was normal. Like this was okay.

_“Uh,”_ Sam stuttered, seemingly taken aback by this question and laid-back tone of voice. _“I’m…on a bus. Stopping just outside Palo Alto in an hour or so.”_

Dean’s lips tightened involuntarily. Somehow talking to Sam now, actually on his way to California made it all the more real. He was really going. He had really gone.

_“What about you?”_ came Sam’s voice again, still ever so slightly hesitant.

“Drove over to Nevada this morning. Dad caught wind of a possible witch case in these parts, we’re heading out to talk to some folks about it tomorrow.”

There was yet another pause.

_“Is he…is he there?”_ Sam’s voice was small, although Dean could tell he was trying to sound nonchalant. There was no need to clarify who ‘he’ was.

“Right now? No…No, we checked into a motel and then he stepped out to go get ammo or somethin’.”

_“Right, yeah.”_

Dean wasn’t sure whether Sam sounded disappointed or relieved. Did Sam want to talk to their dad? Would John have wanted to talk to him? Dean guessed not – not yet anyway. But Dean did know that he wouldn’t have risked answering Sam’s call, or indeed calling him back, had John been around.

Sam cleared his throat. _“So, this witch case – what do you got?”_

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “You really wanna know?”

When Sam had said he was done with hunting, Dean kinda assumed that meant, you know, _done._ He was surprised Sam brought it up. However, a small part of Dean wanted to believe that Sam was still vaguely concerned with knowing what was going on with them.

From the way things went that night, Dean supposed he was surprised Sam was even talking to him right now, that he wanted anything to do with him. Dean had thought Sam hadn’t just been done with hunting but done with them too.

_“Yeah, I do. Tell me about it,”_ Sam encouraged.

Dean smiled to himself before telling Sam about the three victims that all died in the same way at the same time, but in different places – they had all seemed to drown on dry land. So, they were thinking hex bags.

Dean spoke, and Sam seemed genuinely intrigued. He was asking questions, making Dean to go into detail and suggesting things they could do next; places they could go, people they could talk to.

Dean tried to listen and give the occasional “Yeah, good idea” every now and then but his mind couldn’t seem to be distracted from a realisation that made Dean’s heart sink.

Never again would he have his dorky little brother to do the research. Never again would he look around the room and see a shaggy-haired kid hunched over a lore book or hear him ramble at a frankly exhausting length about some Pagan folk tale.

This worried Dean in more ways than one. He and John were damn good hunters, but Sam’s brains had gotten them out of more perilous scrapes than Dean could count.

They _needed_ him. In every sense of the word.

They talked like that for a little while longer. About the case, about hunting, about the freaking weather. Talking, talking, talking about anything but Stanford. For a little while, they were brought back onto the same path, not ones where they were straying further and further from each other.

Sam was rambling on about some way they could go after the witch – if it was a witch that they were hunting – when a mistake slipped out of Dean’s mouth.

“Look at you with all the smart ideas, college boy.”

Dean had meant it as a light-hearted joke, but he didn’t hear a huff of laughter from Sam.

He realised he’d just brought them back down to reality – back to the different paths where Sam was going to school and Dean was…well, Dean didn’t really know what he was.

“ _Dean -_ ”

“Sam,” Dean cut him off and took a breath. “Let’s…let’s not.”

Sam was quiet for a moment.

Dean knew what his brother was about to say, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. A part of him did; a part of him was telling himself to let Sam talk, to listen to him explain why he left, why he apparently wanted, _needed_ this so damn much, why he was ready to give up everything he’d ever known for this, but Dean just couldn’t.

He needed to be angry at him for at least a while longer.

“ _I just gotta say I’m sorry._ ” The words spilled out of Sam’s mouth fast, trying to say them before Dean interrupted again.

Dean’s brow creased. ‘Sorry’? Sorry for what? For ditching them? For leaving Dean to hunt with dad alone? For putting what he wanted above his own family?

“ _I’m sorry for leaving the way I did._ ”

Then Dean understood. There had been a glimmer of hope in him that maybe Sam was regretting his choice, maybe he was sorry for leaving and wanted to come home. But Dean had been right before – he knew his brother, and he knew he didn’t want to come back to this life.

“ _I didn’t mean for it to be so messy. I-I didn’t want to push either of you away._ ”

Dean really did believe that. An explanation he didn’t want, but an apology, he could accept.

“I know you didn’t. Thanks, Sammy.”

Dean could’ve sworn he could hear Sam release a held breath.

“ _So…what’s next? For you…and Dad.”_ Sam asked hesitantly. Dean guessed he was keen to change the subject but unsure how; everything felt so heavy.

“I don’t know. Just…keep on keepin’ on, I guess. Same old, same old.” Dean didn’t want to think about his “future” right now. Not until he’d gotten used to the idea that his little brother wouldn’t be in it.

“And for you, I guess it’s just…” Dean trailed off.

“ _School,”_ Sam finished. _“Yeah I guess so.”_

This was ridiculous, Dean thought. They were talking as though they were strangers. As though they hadn’t spent their whole lives looking out for each other, willing to die for each other at a moment’s notice. As though they didn’t know each other right down to their bones, couldn’t read each other like a book.

In the past, there had been an unspoken language between them, even over the phone – a form of communication that spoke more than their words did.

Now, when Sam and Dean talked, there was a tangible distance between them. A carefulness, an unfamiliarity, a hesitancy. It was in the way they talked, the silence between conversations. They were tip-toeing around each other, around the words that came out of their mouth. Whatever had linked them before had been disconnected and the paths they had been on, which had once been acutely intertwined, were now quite separate. They were just…different.

Maybe that was the bottom line that both of them had to accept.

_“I guess we should…”_ Sam began, then trailed off. _Say goodbye and get back to the isolated paths they were carving out for themselves._

“Yeah I suppose so.” Dean tried to make himself sound casual, tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind saying, _'_ _t_ _his is it this is it this is it this is it, this is the end’._

_“I’ll see you, Dean.”_

Those were the best and worst words that could have come out of Sam’s mouth. Because Dean didn’t know whether to believe him.

“Sayonara, Sam,” he replied, doing his best impression of the person he’d been before all of this happened.

Dean heard the other end of the phone click before sounding a continuous tone that meant the door had been slammed shut for good this time.

He only let himself sit there for a couple of moments before grabbing the keys to the impala, his destination unknown. He just needed to drive, to _do_ something.

Going against his instincts, he drove slow as his vision blurred, distorting the road before him.

* * *

Sam hung up before he changed his mind.

_“Sayonara, Sam.”_

The words replayed in his ears like a terrible echo.

He was sure, in time, he would be glad of his decision – to go after the life he wanted, to apologise to his brother, getting to hear his voice one last time.

But right now, it only sat in his stomach like a dull ache.

The last part of the journey flew by; Sam staring out the window at the blurry scenery.

As the bus pulled into the station at Palo Alto, he couldn’t help but wonder:

_Is this how it’s going to feel every day?_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I know it isn’t a very satisfying resolution – the brothers still kind of being angry, or not fully understanding each other – but when they reunite at the beginning of season 1, they still seem to have some unresolved issues concerning hunting, Stanford, their dad etc. In fact, Dean doesn’t admit he’s proud of Sam until 1x12, so I wanted to try and explore both their points of view and thought processes, while still staying true to that. Hope it makes sense!


End file.
